


The Path Taken

by Kirathaune



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, High Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8259482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirathaune/pseuds/Kirathaune
Summary: While on a journey to retrieve the stolen Jewel of Light, the Elven Prince Sandorin finds more than he was looking for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerbutterfly/gifts).



Once, there was peace in the land.

Once, until Gyuuma, the great Demon king, rose up and tried to conquer the whole of Shangrilar for his own. A mighty battle was waged as the four other great races joined forces to defeat Gyuuma, and after he was slain his Jewel was taken from the Demon people, and they were exiled to the barren lands of the Westerns Wastes. His Jewel, which ruled Darkness, was given to the Elven king, Komon, who had it set next to his own Jewel of Light in the golden torc which he wore instead of a crown.

There was peace of a sort, in the millennium that followed their victory, although Elves and Dwarves continued to hold each other in passive contempt, and the Giant king, who had wanted the Jewel of Darkness for himself, swore in his jealousy that he would offer no hospitality to any Elf. The Humans were given little thought, as their lives were as short as the dew on summer flowers, compared to the long, long lives of the others. 

The vanquished Demons were given even less thought than the Humans, and this benign neglect proved disastrous.

For in the Western Wastes, one of the Demon king’s concubines had made herself Queen, and she vowed to take all of the Great Jewels for herself. One dark night she sent legions of her minions to attack the four rulers that possessed them. 

Both the Giant king and the Dwarven king lost their lives that moonless night, their Jeweled staff and crown pulled out of their dying hands. King Komon was slain as well, but as he fought with his attackers the Jewel of Darkness was knocked out of its setting, and the Demons fled with only the Jewel of Light.

His son and heir, Prince Sandorin, vowed to retrieve the stolen Jewel, because without the Jewel of Light, the Elves could have no king.

* * *

“I don’t need any help,” Prince Sandorin insisted to his aunt, as he finished fastening his cloak over his armor, “especially from a Human.”

Sandorin stood on the edge of the front terrace that led into the domes of the king’s palace. The midmorning sun had not quite burnt off the fog that had settled into the valley, and the foliage-topped spires of limestone, dotted with the curving, fanciful domes of other residences, peeked above the fog like verdant islands in a sea of mist. The rope and wood bridges that spanned from pinnacle to pinnacle, still damp with mist, glistened in the sun like a spider’s web.

Since the prince had been born in the time of the Second Peace, he had never needed to wear armor, so the artisans had scrambled to tend to his unexpected need. Now clad in the fruits of their labors, Sandorin admired their handiwork. The chest-plate was fashioned of hardened leather, dyed to a deep aubergine and overlaid with swirls of beaten gold wire. Beneath the armor he wore a tunic and pants made from cream-colored silk, its sleeves embellished with gold embroidery in the same design. The finest elven maille glistened from beneath the tunic sleeves, and while it was not as light as the legendary maille of the dwarves, its black metal would afford him some measure of stealth. 

“My darling, you will need help.” Sandorin’s aunt, the Lady Kanzin, rose from one of the carved stone seats along the terrace wall and walked over to him, the jewels in her gown flashing in the sunlight. “You must pass through some treacherous lands to reach the Demon citadel, and, to our shame, the elders and I are unable to give you the guidance you will need to get there. We Elves have spent too many years living apart from the rest of Shangrilar, and we are now paying the price for our solitude. And, if you remember your studies, most of the greatest wizards in this world have been Human.” She touched Sandorin’s chest-plate, tracing the golden wirework with her fingertip. “Morlund outdid himself,” she murmured, “I have never seen such exquisite work.” Kanzin met his mutinous gaze. “What is more important, Sandorin, your pride or your kingdom?”

Sandorin glared at her. “My kingdom, of course,” he snapped. 

She lifted her chin. “Then I suggest you set aside your pride and accept whatever assistance will enable you to retrieve what will make you King. Word of the new Green wizard’s skill has reached our ears here in the high reaches of Kinza’an; Hakkien may not have worn his green robes for long, but it seems he wears them well. He has communicated his willingness to meet with you, and you should take whatever assistance he can offer. Have you forgotten that your father succeeded in defeating the Demon king in large part because Todaine the White helped him? Let me remind you, Sandorin, that you have no kingdom without the Jewel of Light,” she said, tapping a fingernail against the empty setting in the golden torc he wore at his neck.

Sandorin brushed her hand away. “I see the merit in your words, sister of my father. Very well, I will consult the wizard.” 

“I am pleased to see that my brother’s son is not a fool,” Kanzin replied sweetly. She gestured to a nearby servant, who approached with a long, wrapped bundle. She unwrapped the shimmering gray silk, and lifted a sword from its folds, its scabbard fashioned in intricately carved, moonlight gray leather.

Sandorin’s attention snapped to the weapon in her hands. “My father’s sword.”

“Yes,” she said. “It served him well a thousand years ago, when he vanquished Gyuuma.” She placed it in his hands. “May it serve you well now.”

Sandorin took it reverently from her hands. He drew the sword from the scabbard, finding a comfort of sorts in seeing the runes of his father’s name, along with the names of the other kings in his family’s line, etched along the flat of the blade.

“When you return with the Jewel,” Kanzin said, “we will add the runes of your name to this sword, and you shall become our king.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Human town of Hilltop had its uses, Sandorin thought, as he guided his horse along the busy, muddy road that cut through the center of the town. Its proximity to Kinza’an afforded the Elves an easy source of trade, and since the townsfolk were used to dealing with Elf-folk Sandorin did not attract too much attention. A few people glanced at his fine garb, while a few others looked him over with benign admiration.

Sandorin ignored them all, except to ask a nearby blacksmith his opinion of where he might find the best inn.

“’Three Daughters,’ without a doubt,” the man replied promptly, his gaze fixed avidly on Sandorin’s armor. “It’s just up the road, about two leagues.” He pulled a rag from his pocket and mopped at his sweaty brow. “May I ask, sir, was your armor made by Morlund Silverhand? No one does wirework as beautifully as he does.”

“He did,” Sandorin replied. “You know him?” Odd that the reclusive Morlund would know a Human.

“He comes here, now and then, for supplies and a chat. I can get materials that are a little difficult for Elves to come by. May I take a look?”

Sandorin nodded, allowing the man a closer view of his chest-plate. The materials the man spoke of were no doubt from Giant lands, where Elves had been unwelcome for almost a thousand years. 

“Wonderful work,” the blacksmith said with a sigh. “Thank you, sir, I’ll have to compliment Silverhand the next time I see him.”

Sandorin thanked him and continued on his way, and it wasn’t long before a large inn came into his view, a solid, gray stone structure with a well-kept thatched roof. A faded red sign hung above the large wooden door, emblazoned with the carved silhouettes of three women. After taking his horse to the stables and paying for feed and grooming, he went back to the entrance, pushed the door open, and went inside.

He stood just inside the entrance for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the change in light. The inn’s common room was a lively, noisy place, with guests chattering, arguing, and occasionally breaking out into raucous song. Wooden tables were piled with platters of food and tankards of various drink, and the savory aromas coming from the tables around him were making Sandorin’s mouth water. 

The door opened behind him, and Sandorin stepped aside, moving to stand in the middle of a group of tables while he scanned the room for a place to sit.

“Hey, there, aren’t you a pretty one?” said a drunken voice to his immediate left, and a hand groped at his rear. “A bit boney-arsed, but that doesn’t matter.”

In an instant Sandorin had his dagger out and pressed up against the man’s throat. “Remove your hand, dog, or I will remove the blood from your body.”

The man’s hand dropped away, and he looked up at Sandorin with a fearful, suddenly sober gaze.

“Oi, Dandren, quit bothering my customers,” the innkeeper yelled from across the room. “I’m so sorry, sir, he can get a bit handsy when he’s drunk. He’s sorry, aren’t you, Dandren?”

“I’m sorry,” Dandren whispered, his eyes flicking down to the dagger and back up at Sandorin. “Very sorry.”

“He’s sorry, friend,” called a voice from the back corner of the room, “and I’m sure he’ll pay for whatever quenches your thirst, to make good his apology.” 

‘Y-yes, a-absolutely,” Dandren said, risking a minute nod.

Sandorin let the dagger rest for another few seconds against the man’s neck, for good measure, and then he sheathed his weapon and walked over to the bar. Dozens of glasses twinkled on the shelves on the back wall, reflecting the dancing light of the candles in the wrought iron chandeliers that hung in the center of the room. The counter appeared to be a sawn slice of a tree trunk, and Sandorin ran his hand along the knobby, bark covered edge.

“Sorry about that, sir,” the innkeeper said, “and Dandren is definitely paying for your drink. What can I get you?”

“Mead, if you have it,” Sandorin said, “and I would also appreciate it if you can recommend anyone in town that I can hire as a guide.” He figured the man would value his reputation enough to recommend someone trustworthy.

“I have mead a’plenty, sir, and Dandren will be treating you to our finest.” The man fetched a tankard from one of the back shelves. “A guide? I know a couple of good men, let me think on who might be around.” He busied himself with filling the tankard from a nearby barrel. 

“Who is he?” Sandorin asked, nodding his head toward the stranger in the corner, the one who had spoken up earlier. 

The man followed his gaze, and then he smiled. “Oh, that’s Gojen Shand,” he said. “I didn’t know he was back in town. If you’re looking for a guide, he’s one of the best in these parts, and he’s a fast as a demon with that sword of his. Honest, too, although I wouldn’t play dice with him.” He set the tankard on the bar in front of Sandorin. 

“Thank you,” Sandorin said, and he tossed a silver melidar on the worn, gleaming wood. 

The innkeeper picked up the square, intricately engraved coin. “Haven’t seen one of these in a long while. This is too much, good sir.”

“Not if your recommendation holds true,” Sandorin said.

“He’s good people,” the man said, and after he pocketed the coin he set down a chipped glass and poured in a generous splash of liquor. “Here’s a conversation starter, this is a favorite sip of his. Dandren’s buying that, too.”

Sandorin took both drinks and headed over to the table in the corner. Its lone occupant lounged against the wall, tapping his fingers against the side of his tankard as he watched the crowd with apparent disinterest. When he saw Sandorin approach, he sat up, swept a fall of red hair back away from his face, and grinned at him.

“I see Dandren bought you some mead,” the man said. “Erndel’s best, too—I’m sure Erndel appreciated your relative patience with our local drunk.” He thrust out a hand. “Gojen Shand.”

Sandorin shook his hand. “Sandorin of Kinza’an,” he said.

“Ah, one of our neighbors from the City in the Mist,” Gojen said, and then he eyed the glass in Sandorin’s hand. “That wouldn’t happen to be a glass of Dwarven Ruin, would it?”

“I don’t know its contents, but it is for you,” Sandorin said, setting the glass on the table in front of Gojen. “I am in need of a guide to the Western Wastes, and the innkeeper had good things to say about you.”

“Is that so? I’ll have to make sure I tip his daughter well tonight,” Gojen said, and he gestured at the seat opposite his. “Have a seat, and tell me why you need to go to that gods-forsaken place.”

Over the course of several more glasses of mead—and spirits—Sandorin told Gojen of the attack on Kinza’an, his father’s death, and the theft of the Jewel of Light. 

“My sorrows for the loss of your father,” Gojen said. “Komon was well regarded in all the places I have traveled.” He sipped at the amber liquid in his glass. “So you need to visit Hakkien the Green, eh? I’ve not met him, but I have heard others speak highly of him, especially concerning his skills in the healing arts. I also heard he has an impressive collection of maps, which you can imagine would be of interest to me.” He regarded Sandorin in the dim lamplight and then named a price. “For that amount, I will see you safely to Hakkien, as well as your further destination, and you can count on my steel. Of course that does not include our room and board along the way—I expect to be well fed and sleep in a decent bed whenever possible.”

Gojen’s fee was high, but not outrageous, and Sandorin had no problem agreeing to it.

“You have a horse?” Gojen asked.

“Yes, but no other gear for the journey. I thought to pay you to procure we we need, since I imagine you would be able to get a better bargain.”

“Damn right,” Gojen said with a laugh. “People will take one look at you and your fancy Elven clothes, and you’ll be paying top dollar. I’ll get us kitted out for a fair price, add a small commission, and you’ll still come out ahead.” He drained his glass, and then he rose from his bench and stretched as he yawned, his fingers almost touching the heavy timbers of the ceiling. “You might as well stay here tonight,” he said, “Erndel’s got nice enough rooms, and he’ll probably make Dandren pay for it. Maybe this will teach the silly sot to keep his hands to himself.” He dug in his pocket to toss a silver and a few coppers on the table. “I’ll meet you here in the morning, and then we’ll be on our merry way.”


	3. Chapter 3

After leaving Hilltop, they spent the next few days traveling along the winding road that took them out of the hills and down into the meadows and grasslands of the Lower Country. It was like a different world to Sandorin, who had never been out of the lush woodlands of Kinza’an. He took in his surrounding in quiet wonder, letting Gojen do most of the talking.

Gojen seemed quite happy to have a new audience, however unresponsive, and he regaled Sandorin with tales of his various adventures. When asked, Sandorin told him about Kinza’an and its high, tree-topped spires of limestone, and the myriad rope bridges that connected them all.

“I hope to see it someday,” Gojen said.

“Get me safely back there, with the Jewel,” Sandorin said, “and you will be welcomed in Kinza’an as an Elf-friend.”

“Now there’s some fine incentive,” Gojen said, and he had them pick up their pace for the rest of the afternoon.

They soon arrived at the next town that sat across the road, a large, sprawling place with the incongruous name of Littletown. Sandorin was struck by the difference between Hilltop and the not-so-little Littletown; its citizenry went about their business in an unhurried fashion, and he saw none of the busy bustle he had experienced in Hilltop, even though there were about the same amount of people. His appearance warranted more interest here, so Sandorin assumed that not very many of his Elf-kin had passed through Littletown.

Gojen Shand apparently had, though, judging by the number of people who hailed him as they rode into town. To Sandorin’s relief, Gojen told them a lot of nothing about what he was doing with an Elven companion.

One area that Littletown excelled in over Hilltop, in Sandorin’s opinion, was their food. Maybe it was more temperate weather and open space, but he found that Littletown had much better fare. That night, after an excellent meal, they drank some wine and went over the next day’s travel. “According to the letter he sent you,” Gojen said, pointing at beautiful but very dense handwriting, “our wizard makes his home in Confluence, which is on the southern border of Giant lands. The quickest route would be to go through the small mountain range that lies to the west of here; otherwise, we’d be a good week or more going around.”

“I don’t want that much of a delay,” Sandorin said.

“I agree.” Gojen pulled out a worn, parchment map and pointed at one of the gaps in the tiny, inked mountains. “There are a few choices, but I think our best bet is to go through the pass I like to call Stone Man’s Lament,” Gojen said as he refilled their glasses. “It’s a bit creepy, but we can ride the horses most of the way through. Although it’s in Giant lands, I’ve heard that most Giant-kind consider the place a forbidden one.” 

Sandorin wasn’t all that keen on traveling through Giant territory, but the savings in time would make it worthwhile. “’Stone Man’s Lament?’”

“The place is littered with stone statues of Giants. Very lifelike statues,” Gojen said. “Legend has it that Petrar, the Giant king, had a fearsome temper, and if you crossed him too badly he would take you to a hidden place in the mountains and turn you to stone.”

“From what my father told me, I would say that legend is true,” Sandorin said, “at least the part about his temper. When my father was given the Jewel of Darkness after the great battle against Gyuuma, Petrar was so angry that he made an earthquake, creating a vast chasm between our lands. He vowed that no Elf would ever be welcome in his kingdom again.”

“I heard that story,” Gojen said.

“It’s not a story.”

Gojen chuckled as he drank some more wine. 

“What is it?” Sandorin frowned.

“It’s just hard for me to wrap my head around it, that I’m talking about something that happened almost a thousand years ago, and your father was one of the people involved.”

“We are a long-lived people,” Sandorin said. “You Humans are lucky to live a hundred years; I was a boy playing with stick-swords at that age. And although I have reached adulthood, there are some of the elders who feel I should not be named King, even when I return with the Jewel, because I have yet to see a thousand summers. They think I am too young.”

“Well, you look young,” Gojen said. “You look to be about my age, and I have seen twenty-five summers. How old are you?”

Sandorin decided to forgive the impertinence of the question. “Nine hundred thirty-nine,” he replied. 

“And your father?”

“He was a few summers short of eight thousand,” Sandorin said, “and if his life had not been taken from him he would have seen three times that, at least.”

Gojen just blinked at him. “I… can’t even imagine.”

Sandorin reached for the wine. “Enjoy the summers you have left, Human, for they will pass by all too quickly.”


	4. Chapter 4

Gojen and Sandorin reached the pass by midmorning the next day.

They began making their way along the narrow, rocky trail, dismounting here and there to guide their horses over unsteady terrain. Sandorin looked about him, and he could see why Gojen described their surroundings as ‘creepy;’ among the boulders and knobby trees that clung tenaciously to outcroppings of rock, he saw what looked like the bodies of Giants, strewn about in varying positions, all made of stone. Hands larger than his entire body reached out as if beseeching for mercy, while others had massive heads ducked beneath limbs the size of tree trunks, warding off an unseen blow.

“My father’s tales were true,” Sandorin said. “These rocks were once living souls.”

“Makes sense,” Gojen agreed. “Also makes you wonder what offenses the poor sots committed.” He pointed further up the path. “There’s one over here that doesn’t seem to fit in, and his presence in this place has always puzzled me.”

Sandorin followed him, and they climbed over a patch of fallen rock to stand before one of the unfortunate figures.

“He’s Human,” Sandorin said. “He’s almost my height, while these others are at least ten times that.” The face before him was young, too; he looked to be only a few years younger than Gojen.

“No, he’s not,” Gojen said, and he stepped up next to the stone man. “See his ears? They’re small and rounded, unlike your pointed ears and my kidney-shaped ones. His head, too, is rounder than a Human’s.” He clapped a hand on a rocky shoulder. “And his garb is like the others. He’s a Giant.”

Sandorin snorted. “I’ve never heard of a Giant this small.” Gojen was right, though; the young man’s head and ears had the same shape as the larger statues, and he wore the high-wasted breeches and cropped vest that the others wore.

Gojen stared at him. “Surely you know about their other form?”

Sandorin blinked. “I…yes,” he said, vaguely recalling centuries-old lessons. “But he appears old enough to take his true height. ‘A Giant is considered a man among his kind when he can achieve his true stature at will,’” he recited. “Somewhere in their sixth century, if I remember correctly… Giants share our longevity, give or take a few thousand years. But he looks a little older than that, not too far from my age.”

“He’s definitely a mystery,” Gojen said, and he patted the statue and walked back to the main path.

Sandorin moved up to take a closer look. He appeared to be a very comely youth, lithe of figure yet finely muscled, and Sandorin reflected that he would have found him attractive, if he had been living. Even being of stone he had a handsome, expressive face, but Sandorin’s gaze was drawn to the wide, frightened eyes, a mouth whose lips were frozen mid-plead, and a slender hand held out to ward off an impending doom. The hurt, bewildered expression in the stone eyes moved even Sandorin’s cold heart, and he reached out and rested his palm against the outstretched stone.

The earth rumbled beneath them.

Startled, Sandorin stumbled back to where Gojen stood.

Gojen gripped his arm. “What did you do?” he demanded.

“Nothing! I but touched my hand against his.”

Gojen shook him. “By the Lady, look at his hand.”

In the center of the mottled, gray stone palm, a small patch of golden-tan skin appeared. Sandorin and Gojen looked on in fascination as the tawny patch grew, turning cold stone into living flesh.

“Gold eyes,” Gojen whispered as the young man’s face was transformed. “Giant’s eyes.” He drew his sword.

Sandorin did the same, although he sensed he would not need it. 

When the last bit of stone disappeared, life returned to the wide, golden gaze, and the young man collapsed to the ground. “No! Please! Father, don’t!” he cried out.

“Easy now,” Gojen said, and he rushed over to help, only to be knocked several feet away. “Banor’s balls, he might be small, but he still has a Giant’s strength!”

Sandorin strode over and gripped a flailing arm. “Stop that,” he commanded.

The young man gazed up at him, a myriad of emotions crossing his face. “You… you’re an Elf!” he looked around wildly, and then looked back at Sandorin. “Who are you? Where is everyone? I don’t understand.”

“I am Sandorin of Kinza’an, son of Komon of Kinza’an,” Sandorin replied, aware of the great strength in the arm beneath his fingers.

“And I’m Gojen Shand, son of Only My Mother Knows,” Gojen said, brushing the dust off his breeches as he rose from the ground. “We can’t help you with your other questions, lad. You have a name?”

“Gokur Shiningbrow, son of Petrar Shiningbrow,” he replied with the automatic promptness of a well-born son, and he let Sandorin help him to his feet. “I don’t understand,” he repeated, looking around at the tumbled rocks, and the other stone giants that littered the area. “My father brought me here, and my mother and my brother Nakur were here too, pleading with him to stop.” He stared at his hands. “He pointed and me… a-and he said the Words of Stone, and then all of a sudden I couldn’t move, I couldn’t see, and I felt so cold.”

_Petrar Shiningbrow._ Sandorin and Gojen exchanged a glance, both recognizing the name of the legendary ill-tempered Giant king. _This is his son?_ Sandorin thought.

Gokur looked at Sandorin, his gaze full of wonder. “You touched me, just now… and I don’t know how, but I am free.” He dropped to one knee. “I pledge myself to your service, Sandorin of Kinza’an. My life is yours for a thousand years.” He caught the edge of Sandorin’s tunic, and lifted it to his lips.

“Stop that,” Sandorin said, batting his hand away, more than a little embarrassed by the young man’s declaration. “And get up.”

Gojen stared up at the sky, frowning at the storm clouds that were gathering at the edges of the horizon. “As much as I would love to learn more about you, Gokur, we need to get moving, and fast—I want to be inside an inn when those rains come.” 

“An inn! I want to be inside an inn too!” Gokur clutched his stomach. “I am very hungry.”

Gojen laughed. “I wager you are—I think you’ve been here for a few hundred years.” He looked at Sandorin. “We can’t just leave him here, Sandorin.”

Sandorin sighed. “Well, his strength could come in handy.”

“What do you need?” Gokur asked. “I can help! I pledge—”

Sandorin waved him off. “Yes, yes, I know. For now, you are in charge of my horse, and you will carry all my gear.”

Gokur nodded vigorously, and he scrambled over the rocks toward one of the horses.

“Not that one! The other one!” Sandorin shouted, and he turned to Gojen. “This is all your fault.”

Gojen shook his head, smiling. “I’m not the one who touched him.” He took the reins that Gokur handed him, and then he gestured at the massive stone bodies that surrounded them. “But for all our sakes, Sandorin, don’t touch any of the others.”


	5. Chapter 5

Later that evening, as they ate their dinner at a small inn on the other side of the pass, Sandorin was glad of the high value of Elven currency when he surveyed the mountain of empty platters on Gokur’s side of the table.

“This is so good!” Gokur exclaimed. “I didn’t know Humans had such good things to eat.”

In between his numerous helpings, Gokur told them about how he had ended up in the Stone Man’s Lament. “I’m not able to grow to my true size,” he said. “I forget how many healers and shamans my mother brought to the palace, trying to find one who could fix me. She tried to hide it from my father, but one of the shamans told him. He was furious, and declared that something so puny could never be his heir.”

“I don’t understand how he could turn his own son to stone,” Gojen said. “I’ve heard stories about other Giants who never achieved their true height; they end up living among Human men, and I don’t think they fared too badly.”

“But none of them were the King’s son,” Gokur said, and his earlier merriment faded. “To him, I was an embarrassment, something to get rid of before the other Giants found out. I guess I’ll have to live among men now, for if he knows that I have returned to life he might turn me back to stone, and smash me to bits.” He gripped the edge of the table, his gaze once again wide and fearful.

“He will never know,” Sandorin said, “for he is dead. Three moons ago, Demons killed him and stole his Jeweled staff.” He told Gokur of the other attacks against Komon and the Dwarven King, and the purpose of his journey. 

“He is dead?” 

“Yes, lad,” Gojen said. “I won’t offer you my sorrows, because I am glad he can’t hurt you again.”

Sandorin watched a mix of turbulent emotions sweep across Gokur’s handsome face. 

“I will not grieve for him,” Gokur finally said, “for he is not worthy of my sorrow.” He looked over at Sandorin. “Will you let me come with you? I promise I will be useful.”

Sandorin had loved his father dearly—and had been dearly loved in return, so he couldn’t begin to imagine how it must have felt for Gokur to have his love cast aside, to have his life’s breath stopped by the man who had sired him. “You may accompany us,” he said, and as he watched Gokur’s downcast demeanor change to beaming happiness, something shifted in his mind, allowing room for the notion that Gokur’s warm, golden eyes were the color of sweet summer mead. 

The innkeeper could only offer them one room, with two beds and a pallet for Gokur, and although there were two other places nearby Gojen suggested that they take the available room. “This place is the nicest of the three, and he’s got a better reputation as well,” he murmured to Sandorin.

“Very well,” Sandorin said.

It didn’t take them long to settle in, and Gojen quickly fell asleep. Sandorin lay awake in his own bed, listening to Gojen’s snores, and Gokur’s restless shifting on his pallet.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Sandorin asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” Gokur whispered back.

But Sandorin continued to hear him moving around, and after a bit he leaned over the side of his bed to peer at Gokur. “What is it?”

Gokur looked up at him with the wide gaze of someone who could not see in the dark. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep you up.”

Sandorin, of course, could see just fine, and he watched Gokur worry his plump lower lip with his teeth. “Something is bothering you,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“It’s foolish, but… “ Gokur paused, biting his lip again. “I’m afraid to go to sleep,” he admitted. “I’m afraid that this is all a dream, and I’ll turn back to stone.” 

“It is foolish,” Sandorin said, “you need to get some sleep. I can’t have you tumbling off your horse tomorrow.” He hesitated a moment, and then said, “Come up here.”

Gokur did not need a second invitation, and moments later he had burrowed under the covers.

“Keep on your side,” Sandorin ordered.

“I will.”

“Don’t snore.”

“I won’t.”

Sandorin allowed himself a small smile a little while later when Gokur began to snore.

Later, he woke in the middle of the night to discover Gokur pressed up against him. Sandorin felt the warmth of Gokur’s body alongside his own, and the not unpleasant weight of Gokur’s arm draped across his waist. Gokur had stopped snoring, and his now-quiet breaths floated across the back of Sandorin’s neck like a sigh. Something else shifted inside Sandorin; this time it was a spark of arousal that curled low in his belly. 

It had probably been a mistake to allow the young Giant to share his bed, Sandorin allowed, as he lay there in Gokur’s sleeping embrace. But the warmth against—and within—his body was pleasant, and Sandorin he decided it wasn’t worth the bother to make him move.


	6. Chapter 6

“His castle should be here,” Gojen said, “ _this_ is Confluence.” He waved at the collection of well-kept buildings that perched along the banks of the Lower River. “That’s the Upper River, there’s the Green River, and here’s the Lower River that we’ve caught sight of now and then on our way here. The town is named for the junction of the rivers. This _has_ to be the place.”

The middle-sized town was a surprisingly busy place, thanks in large part to its favorable location for river-based trade. Boats were lined up along the river’s edge, and workers moved items off and on the numerous decks while merchants haggled with customers. 

Gokur and Sandorin waited together while Gojen went to inquire about Hakkien. “I’ve never seen so many Humans,” Gokur whispered to Sandorin. “They all look so different!” 

Sandorin grunted in agreement. Among his kind, appearance was usually determined by clan; his clan of Mountain Elves were usually fair-haired, with violet or gray eyes, while the Wood Elves were dark-haired and dark-eyed, and his kin that lived by the Salt Sea had hair black as night, and eyes the color of the sea. Here, there were Humans of every size, shape and color; Sandorin wondered if Elves had distinct appearances because they lived aloof from the other clans.

He frowned as he watched Gojen stop to talk to several different merchants, each one shaking their head to whatever he was asking them. His frown deepened when Gojen joined them, shaking his own head.

“It’s the damnedest thing,” Gojen said, “no one here can tell me where Hakkien the Green lives. They've heard of him, say they’re never met him personally, and have naught but good things to say. But they don’t know where to find him or his castle.”

“You can’t assume he’s in a castle,” Sandorin said. “My father knew a mage that lived in a grass hut.”

“The shamans that came to see me lived in caves,” Gokur said.

Gojen rolled his eyes. “All your people live in caves,” he said. He nodded at Sandorin. “You’re right, though; years ago I had the dubious pleasure of meeting Nordabert the Brown, and he lived in the most ridiculous shack you could imagine. I just assumed someone of Hakkien’s reputation would live in a fairly nice place, and that people would know of it.”

“There’s your second assumption,” Sandorin said. “From my understanding, most mages meet with others on their own terms.” He held out his hand. “Give me back the letter.”

Gojen pulled the folded parchment from a pocket and handed it to Sandorin. “I’ve read it I don’t know how many times. It says to come to his lodgings in Confluence.”

Sandorin moved so that the parchment was in full sunlight, and he held it up close, examining the looping script. “Look at this,” he said, pointing to the sentence in question. “There’s a word in between ‘in’ and ‘Confluence.’”

Gojen peered at the letter. “I thought that was an ink splot.”

Sandorin tilted the letter and looked again. “I did too, when I first read it. But I think it reads ‘in _the_ Confluence.’ The more I look at this the more I see the word ‘the.’” 

“Well, damn my eyes,” Gojen said. “We’ll need to stable the horses, and hire someone to ferry us across.”

“Ferry?” Gokur asked. “Why?”

“Because while this is the town of Confluence, the only thing that’s actually _in_ the Confluence itself is that large island right there,” Gojen said, pointing to an island in the center of the three rivers, its lone rocky peak rising up above thick, verdant woodland. “He’d have to come here for supplies now and then, so I still don’t understand why the town folk don’t know of him.”

“Perhaps they simply don’t know that it is Hakkien the Green who buys from them,” Sandorin said.

An hour later they stood on the island’s pebbled shore,and as the ferryman rowed away he promised to return for them in the morning.

“Have a care to stay by your campfire tonight, lads,” the old man said, “There are strange things on this island.”

Sandorin and Gokur followed as Gojen led them into the dense woods, and pine needles crunched beneath their boots as they walked along what looked like a natural path. The woods were riddled with them, and it was decided to let Gojen pick which trails they would follow. 

Another path veered off to one side, and as they were about to pass it, Sandorin saw a faint glow on the ground, right at the head of the path. “Wait,” he said to the other two. He bent and picked up the piece that had caught his eye.

“What is it?” Gokur asked, peering into Sandorin’s palm. “Oh, it’s just a rock.”

“No, it’s not,” Sandorin said, and he looked over at Gojen. “We should go this way.”

“Because you found a rock?” Gojen asked, his expression skeptical. “This is the path we should follow, it feels right to me.” He pointed ahead of them.

“Because I found a moon-stone,” Sandorin said. “I noticed it glowing as we walked by.”

Gojen took a peek at the stone in his palm. “That’s just a white pebble.”

“It’s a moon-stone. Only Elven eyes can see it glow.”

Gojen took the pebble from his hand and examined it. “It’s glowing right now?”

“Yes.”

Gokur poked his head in between them to look at the stone again. “I don’t see it glowing.”

Gojen elbowed him. “Last time I checked, you weren’t an Elf.”

“Oh.”

Sandorin suppressed a snort at the disappointment in Gokur’s tone.

“We go this way, then,” Gojen said, and he glanced over at Sandorin. “I’m thinking you should keep an eye out for more of these.”

It was actually quite ingenious, Sandorin thought as they made their way into the island’s interior. Hakkien had obviously set the stones as guideposts, and Sandorin could see the faint glow of each stone whenever they approached the proper turnoff in each path. He now had a good handful of the pebbles in the pocket of his cloak, and he knew they never would have chosen the correct way without them.

A few more pebbles, a few more twisting, dappled paths, and the three men found themselves in a small, sun-lit clearing that kissed the slopes of the island’s tall, rocky hill. Sandorin saw neat rows of vegetables growing on one side, while the equally neat rows of a tiny vineyard filled the rest. At the end of their path was a low stone cottage that appeared to be built right into the hillside. A variety of herbs grew on the low, sloping roof, and next to the arched, wooden door, three square windows winked in the sunlight.

A dark-haired man stood in one of the rows of grapevines, clad in a long, simple wool tunic that was the color of woodland pines. What looked to be a tiny white dragon glided lazily above his head, and the creature chirped at him while he worked.

“How did you come upon your path?” the man asked, not taking his attention from the vine he was trimming.

Sandorin and Gojen exchanged a glance, and then Sandorin answered, “Moon-stones.”

The man turned from his task and smiled when he saw the pile of pebbles in Sandorin’s hand. _"Aaye,_ Sandorin- _heru,"_ he said, bowing. _“Amin elea lle heru atar e' lle anta.”_ He smiled. “Except for your eyes,” he said, switching to the Common tongue. “If I remember correctly, Komon’s eyes were the color of the brown topazes the Dwarven tribe of Melchor was famous for. Unusual for your clan, I think. But you do have the look of him.” The dragon flew down to perch on his shoulder.

Sandorin nodded. _"Aaye,_ Hakkien,” he said, returning the formal greeting.

Hakkien the Green’s smile widened as he walked over to join them. “I was hoping that the moon-stones would work; not being Elven myself I couldn’t be completely sure of the effect. I’m so pleased that you made it here safely.”

“All thanks to my guide, Gojen Shand,” Sandorin said, indicating Gojen. He gestured to Gokur. “This is Gokur, who joined us along the way.” He decided that Gokur could supply his surname if he wished.

Gokur hurried forward, his hand outstretched. “Gokur Shiningbrow,” he said, shaking Hakkien’s hand. “I’ve never met a wizard!”

“And I have never met a giant,” Hakkien said, peering at Gokur's golden eyes, “so there we are.” He took in Gojen’s lanky frame. “My thanks to you, Mr. Shand, for your fine work in getting everyone here—and finding me. I’m afraid I was deliberately unclear, as I like my privacy.”

“I almost led them down the wrong path when Sandorin discovered the moon-stones,” Gojen admitted, “and both Sandorin and I almost missed the bit in your letter about you actually living _in_ the Confluence. I was mightily puzzled that no one in town knew anything about you.”

“That’s because Hakkien the Green has never set foot in Confluence,” Hakkien said. “Now, if you asked them about a man named Chom, they would tell you that I come from the other side of the Confluence, from a small town called Ern on the Green River.” He waved toward his house and said, “Please come in and have some tea. Of course, you’ll stay for dinner, and I can put you up for the night—no one will come back here after sundown, they all think the island’s haunted.”

Hakkien’s bermed cottage was surprisingly roomy inside. Every wall was filled with books, and even the rafters held shelves overflowing with dusty tomes. A small kitchen sat off to one side in the front room, and while the men set their packs down Hakkien gathered extra chairs so that they could all sit around the tiny, cloth-covered table, and the dragon flew over to curl up in a woven basket next to the iron stove. While they drank their tea Sandorin gave Hakkien more details about the attack on Komon, and the theft of the Jewel.

“I did hear of the other attacks,” Hakkien said, his hands cupped around his mug of tea. “’Lady Gyokuu,’ as she’s calling herself these days, has certainly gotten ambitious. Thank goodness her minions were unsuccessful in taking Queen Shara’s Jewel, and that they did not get both of the Jewels your father had.” His gaze flicked to the empty setting on Sandorin’s torc, and then he sipped his tea. “But here is an interesting thing; Gyuuma’s son, Kougaa, had been against the _first_ attack initiated by his father a millennium ago, and he was furious when his father’s concubine elevated herself to Queen and ordered this second attack. Kougaa has been trying to find a way to have his people allowed back in the Lower Lands, and his hope for doing so has been shattered by that woman’s greed.”

“Kougaa wanted to end their exile?” Sandorin frowned; he had not heard anything about that back in Kinza’an.

“Yes.”

“How would you know that?”

“He asked for my help in brokering an agreement with the other Four,” Hakkien said. “It’s a shame, really. I’m not saying it would have been easy—especially with convincing the Giants—but he had a decent chance. Until now, of course.” He finished his tea, and rose from his seat. “I think I will go with you. I want you to meet with Prince Kougaa; I think you might find him to be an unexpected ally.”

Sandorin’s frown deepened. “You want me to meet with the Demon prince, whose people killed my father three moons ago.”

Hakkien met his gaze evenly. “Those were not his people. Let me tell you something; in all the conversations I have had with Prince Kougaa, not _once_ did he speak of a desire to possess the Jewel of Darkness, or any of the Jewels of Power. His desire was—and is—to take his people back to their lands, for them live in peace with the other peoples of this world.” 

He gathered up their empty cups, and set them gently in a carved stone sink that was against the opposite wall. “You have brought along some interesting companions, Sandorin,” Hakkien said while he pumped some water in the sink and began to wash the cups. “Tell me how you you came to travel with a Giant, when all the stories say that King Petrar declared Elves to be their enemy.” 

Relieved by the change in subject, Sandorin told Hakkien of how they came upon Gokur in Stone Man’s Lament, and as he spoke he could feel Gokur’s golden, shining gaze upon him.

“My goodness, you must be Petrar’s son,” Hakkien said, staring in wonder at Gokur. “Turned to stone five hundred years ago because you couldn’t achieve your true height.” He turned to Sandorin. “And he transformed after you touched him?”

Sandorin nodded. “How did you know of the tale?”

Hakkien waved a soapy hand at the books that filled every crevice of the front room. “I like to collect the writings of other mages whenever possible, and I have a set of notes penned by a Giant shaman, who wrote of his failure to heal a young Giant prince who had reached his sixth century, yet could not grow to his full height. The shaman fled Giant lands after the young prince had been enspelled by the King, and he lived among men for the rest of his days.” He wiped his hands on his tunic, and fetched a slim, leather-bound volume from a crowded shelf next to the fireplace. “Here it is.” Hakkien opened the book, flipped through the pages, and then he tapped his finger at a passage and read, “’The king’s anger was very great with his son, though the poor boy was hardly to blame for his lack of stature. In his wroth, Petrar set a cruel condition for his son’s release from the Words of Stone; that only the touch of an Elven hand could ever set him free.’” He looked up from the book. “What an amazing thing. You are very fortunate, Gokur, that Gojen chose to lead Sandorin through that pass, and not the others.”

Gokur could only nod, his jaw tight, and his eyes bright with unshed tears. 

“See, you should have pledged your thousand years to me instead,” Gojen said, clapping Gokur’s back. 

His words made Gokur laugh, and Sandorin was glad to see the sorrow leave Gokur’s eyes.

“You seem to have an uncanny knack for choosing an unusual path, Gojen Shand,” Hakkien said, his gaze focusing on Gojen.

Gojen shrugged. “Going through Stone Man’s Lament seemed to be the best way.”

“Even though that pass is spelled to be hidden from Human eyes?”

“What?” Gojen frowned at him. “I’ve traveled though there a good handful of times.”

“I imagine that whatever companions you took were amazed that you had found it.”

Gojen’s frown deepened. “So I have a reputation of getting people to their destinations quickly, what of it? Mind you, it was Sandorin who discovered the path that led us to you. I would have taken us the wrong way—I saw red marks on the trees, and I thought you put them there.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that it was the wrong path,” Hakkien set the book on the table, and he laid a hand on Gojen’s shoulder. “I _did_ put them there. It was the path I marked for Kougaa, the Demon prince. Only someone with Demon blood would see the flame-runes that I had inscribed on the trees. You must be half-Demon, my friend.”

“H-how would you know such a thing?” Gojen sputtered. 

Sandorin snorted. “He’s a Wizard, you fool. They see far more than we—or they—want to see, which is why most of them are mad, or holed up in citadels, or both.”

Hakkien merely smiled at them all, his dancing green gaze daring them to guess which applied to him. 

“It will be time for supper soon,” he said, glancing out the window at the late-afternoon sky. “Sandorin, there is a small glade a few paces to the north of here that has a lovely waterfall that I use for bathing; you and Gokur can wash off the dust from your journey while Gojen and I prepare our meal.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Why did he have Gojen stay behind?” Gokur asked as he and Sandorin hiked up the short, winding path to the glade that Hakkien had described. “Gojen’s got just as much dust as we do.”

“I imagine Hakkien wanted to test his theory about Gojen's parentage,” Sandorin said, and he unfastened his chest-plate and let it fall with a soft thud onto the grass. The glade was indeed beautiful. A small, rocky cleft rose along one side, and behind a stand of trees water cascaded from the top of a small grotto, spilling into a burbling pool at its base. Next to the pool, a gentle hill rose, its grassy banks dotted with wildflowers. “I’ll go first.” He shed his tunic, maille, and pants, until he was left wearing only his small-clothes and the long silk shirt that protected his skin from the maille. Once he stepped behind the trees Sandorin removed the rest of his clothes and stood under the pounding water, washing the dust and sweat from his body with the bar of soap that Hakkien had given them. It was the first time in weeks that he truly felt clean; although their stays in the various inns had been comfortable enough, there had only been washbasins and pitchers of water for bathing. 

When he finished, he put his silks back on and went back into the tiny clearing. “Your turn,” he told Gokur, tossing the soap to him.

Gokur stripped down to his small-clothes and joyfully ran over to the grotto.

Sandorin pulled on his pants and tugged his tunic over his head, and he decided to leave his maille draped over his chest-plate. It would be nice to spend the evening without wearing armor, he thought, and after he fingered his damp hair into some sort of order he lay down on the soft grass and watched the clouds moving across the sky, while he listened to birdsong and Gokur’s off-key singing. He closed his eyes, enjoying the peace of the place.

He opened his eyes when Gokur plopped down next to him, his chestnut-brown hair glistening with droplets of water. 

“That felt wonderful,” Gokur said. “I can see why Hakkien doesn’t want anyone to know about this place.” He rolled over to face Sandorin, propping himself up on an elbow. “You look different without your armor,” he said. “You look more comfortable.”

“I never wore armor until I left Kinza’an,” Sandorin replied. “I was born during the Second Peace.”

Gokur smiled. “I’m older than you, then,” he said, “although I was too young to fight in the battle against the Demon King. And I never understood why my lord father cut us off from the Elves; I had several Elvish friends, and it made me sad that I was forbidden to see them again.”

“He was angered that my father was given the guardianship of the Jewel of Darkness,” Sandorin said. “He wanted it for himself.”

“And we all know that my father was rash in his anger.” Gokur reached over and touched the Jewel that sat at the base of Sandorin’s neck. “I mourn your loss, Sandorin, but I am glad that you were in that place, and that you freed me from my father’s terrible curse.”

The pads of Gokur’s fingers rested against his skin, and Sandorin felt as if their warmth burned into him. “I don’t want you with me out of gratitude,” he said.

Gokur smiled. “No, not gratitude,” he replied, and he leaned over and brushed his mouth against Sandorin’s.

Sandorin slid his hand up into Gokur’s damp hair, keeping their mouths together as he returned the kiss. He pushed Gokur back onto the grass, moving so that Gokur was beneath him, and kissed him again, slow and deep, reveling in the way Gokur’s body moved against his, the feel of Gokur’s hands in his hair, and the hard press of Gokur’s arousal against his hip.

Gokur reached down between them and pressed his hand against Sandorin’s stiffening manhood. “Supper shouldn’t be for awhile yet,” he whispered against Sandorin’s jaw, his lips curved in an impish smile.

They rose and returned to the tiny grotto, exchanging heated kisses as they shed their clothes once again. They explored each other’s bodies with eager hands and mouths, and as they coupled beneath the waterfall the rushing waters drowned out their pleasure-noises.

When they had dressed again and returned to the cottage Hakkien set them to work readying the table while he sent Gojen off to bathe.

“Is he really a Demon, Hakkien?” Gokur asked as he took a pile of plates from Hakkien’s cupboard.

“Half-Demon,” Hakkien corrected, “but yes. He hails from a town that is near the Western Wastes, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility that some of the exiled Demons would go there. I believe that his father was one of Kougaa’s clan, since Gojen saw the fire-runes I made.”

“How is he?” Sandorin asked. 

“He’s fine,” Hakkien replied. “He even said that a number of things from his past made more sense now. He’s fortunate that he looks almost completely Human—”

“Almost?” Sandorin interrupted. “He looks entirely Human to me.”

“He would, to anyone who had not met one of Gyuuma’s clan. Gojen’s hair is an unusual shade of red, as are his eyes, and he shares those features with Prince Kougaa.” Hakkien handed him a fistful of cutlery. “None of the Humans living today would know what the people of the Fire Demon Clan look like, so Gojen will be able to continue living among them.”

They had proof of Gojen’s mood when he returned. “How about that?” he said to Sandorin while he helped move platters of vegetables to the table. “I always thought I was just a lucky bastard who happened to be a bit stronger and quicker than most.”

Their silence was a companionable one while they ate their meal of fish stew, vegetables, and fresh bread, and Sandorin enjoyed the warmth of Gokur’s leg pressing against his under the table. 

“We’ll have to get another horse for you before we leave tomorrow,” Gojen said while they cleared the table of the remains of their supper. 

“Oh, we won’t need the horses,” Hakkien said. “Hakuu will take us where we need to go.” He nodded at the dragon who still slept in his basket. “He can reach quite a respectable size when needed.”

Gojen blinked at him. “You travel in town with another name, confound visitors with a maze of paths, and now we’re going to just fly out of here on a giant white dragon?”

Hakkien raised an ebony-colored eyebrow. “How little confidence you have in my abilities. Do you not think I can cloak us with invisibility? Child’s play.” He folded his arms in mock indignation, and then he raised one arm to tap a forefinger against his lips. “But speaking of abilities, I think I might concoct an elixir tonight,” he said. He walked around the room, perusing his shelves, and he choose a few worn volumes and stacked them on top of the shaman’s journal he had read from earlier.

“I’m afraid I only have the one guest room,” he said, and he nodded at Sandorin and Gokur, “you two can share the bed in there. Gojen can have the rare and highly sought-after privilege of sharing with me.”

Gojen laughed. “Sharing a bed with a wizard could be dangerous,” he said, winking at Hakkien.

“Quite,” Hakkien replied, a small smile playing on his lips. “Although I think I might be up a bit late.” He gathered the books and then pointed down a small corridor. “The bedrooms are just this way, and the only thing I ask of you all is that no one enter the room at the end; it is my work-shop, and it would reflect poorly on my hospitality if anyone were to unexpectedly explode. Good night, gentlemen,” he said, and he walked to the end of the hallway and disappeared behind the door.


	8. Chapter 8

He was riding a _dragon_.

Sandorin kept a tight hold on the long, white fur that ran along the crest of Hakuu’s spine, and Gokur kept an equally tight hold on him while they straddled the dragon’s back just below the shoulder joint of his wings. Hakkien and Gojen were perched on the other side of Hakuu’s shoulders, and Sandorin watched, mesmerized, as the massive wings rose and fell on either side of them.

He glanced down at the land below, and was struck by how small everything seemed. The Confluence and its rivers looked like a snarl of tangled blue yarn, and the buildings of the town of Confluence looked like tiny toys. He looked ahead, and in between the beats of Hakuu’s wings Sandorin caught a glimpse of the brown, ragged cliffs of the Western Wastes.

“My people’s land seems so small,” Gokur murmured in his ear. “See that one mountain over there, that stands apart from the others? That was my home, until my father cast me out. And there is the Great Chasm my father made in his wroth against the Elves.”

Sandorin craned his neck to peer at the great gash in the earth, separating the gray mountains of the Giants from the green land of the Elves. Part of him was disappointed that he couldn’t see Kinza’an, although he could just make out some of the tips of the taller limestone spires that stood at the very edge of the valley where he lived. “My home is just beyond those tall stones; we call them the Sentinels,” he said. 

“I hope I can see your home someday,” Gokur said, and he pressed his lips against the nape of Sandorin’s neck.

“You will see it, for you will return there with me,” Sandorin replied, and he gasped for breath when Gokur’s arms squeezed him in a tight embrace. “Stop that,” he said. “If you break my body you will get no more pleasure from it.” 

“I’m sorry!” Gokur immediately loosened his hold, and he scooted forward to whisper into Sandorin’s ear. “I will be very careful,” he said, “because your body gave mine much pleasure yesterday. And last night.” He kissed the pointed tip of Sandorin’s ear. “And this morning.”

“Hush,” Sandorin said.

Soon all the earth beneath them was the dull brown of the Wastes, and as Sandorin gazed at the barren land below, he could understand why Prince Kougaa wanted his people released from their exile. It was a harsh, lifeless place, and if what Hakkien had said was true, many of the Demons who had been banished here were victims of their king’s greed, just as Gokur and other Giants had been at the mercy of their king’s temper.

A shallow valley with a cluster of settlements came within their view, two stone citadels rising on each end, the larger one bastioned with the jagged rocks that littered the surrounding land. Hakuu lifted one wing and banked to the right, heading toward the smaller of the two. As they drew closer Sandorin could see a series of terraces on the side of the structure, and Hakuu brought them down to land on the top-most terrace. They dismounted, and then with a flash of white light, Hakuu transformed back to his smaller size and flew off into the citadel.

Moments later, a young Demon rushed out onto the terrace, buttoning his tunic, his long, red hair hastily tied back with a ribbon. “Hakkien! Are you mad, coming here?” His eyes, the same color as Gojen’s, widened when he saw Sandorin and the others. 

“Foolish, perhaps, but I hope that I am not mad,” Hakkien replied. “Kougaa, this is Prince Sandorin, who wishes to retrieve the Jewel that was stolen from his father. I told him about your hopes for your people, and it occurred to me that helping him could help you.”

The Demon prince bowed to Sandorin. “My sorrows for your loss, Sandorin, and I am ashamed that my father’s whore caused your father’s death. I have disowned the kinsmen who have flocked to her, and I will gladly help you get your Jewel back.” He turned back toward Hakkien. “But Hakkien, how can I be helped now? That woman has ruined everything; not only did she order all those attacks, but she has imprisoned us here and enspelled this place to keep us from using our powers against her. it’s only thanks to Hakuu that I was able to communicate with you at all.”

“You could have ridden Hakuu and escaped,” Sandorin said.

Kougaa lifted his chin. “I would not leave my people here, at her mercy,” he said. He caught a glimpse of Gojen, who stood just behind Hakkien. “Hakkien? How did you come across one of my kinsmen?”

“Gojen is a half-blood,” Hakkien said, “who has just learned of his Demon parentage. He brought Sandorin to me, and he saw the fire runes that I had left for you.”

Kougaa clasped Gojen’s hand. “Your father must have been one of the more powerful members of our clan, if you are able to see fire runes,” he said, pressing his cheek against Gojen’s. “Welcome, little brother.”

Hakkien laid a hand on Gokur’s shoulder. “Kougaa, this is Gokur Shiningbrow, and I think he will be the key to our success.”

Gokur exchanged greetings with Kougaa, and then he looked at Hakkien, bewildered. “Me? How can I help? I’m strong, but I’m small.”

“Perhaps not for long,” Hakkien said, and from a pocket in his robes he withdrew a small bottle filled with a clear, bright yellow liquid. “I studied that shaman’s text last night, as well as a few other Giant writings that I have collected, and it seems that while they all tried separate cures on you, none of them thought to combine their efforts.” 

“He’s a Giant?” Kougaa asked, gazing at Gokur with renewed hope in his eyes.

Hakkien nodded and held up the bottle. “One herb won’t work properly without the presence of the other, and both achieve maximum efficacy when combined with a third. I am confident this elixir will help you, Gokur. It may take a number of doses to make the cure a permanent one, but I’m almost certain that if you drink this, you will be able to achieve your true height.”

Gokur took the bottle with shaking hands, and Hakkien reached down and covered Gokur’s hands with his.

“Would you be willing to lend your height and strength to help free Kougaa’s clansmen?” Hakkien asked.

Gokur nodded, his gazed fixed on the liquid with a mixture of hope and fear. Hakkien murmured something in a strange tongue, and he ran his hands over Gokur’s arms and legs.

“Hakkien,” Kougaa said, his voice trembling, “with his help we can defeat her and her misguided followers. We can return what was stolen.” He looked over at Sandorin. “We can have a chance at true peace, and maybe, just maybe, be able to go home.”

Hakkien was right, Sandorin realized. The Demon prince cared more for his people than for his own ambition. “I will help you defeat her,” he said, “and help bring your people back to your homeland.”

Thank you,” Kougaa said, bowing once more.

“You have my steel as well,” Gojen said.

Kougaa laughed, and clapped Gojen on the back. “Once I am free of this citadel, little brother, I will confer your birthright upon you. I think your blood is strong enough to handle it.” He turned to Hakkien. “What do we need to do, Wizard?”

“Get everyone to the bottom of this citadel,” Hakkien said promptly. “When Gokur breaks it—”

“Me?” Gokur squeaked. “Break the citadel?”

“Yes!” Hakkien said. He gave his attention back to Kougaa. “When this building breaks, the spells will break with it. Be ready to attack Gyokuu’s stronghold, we will meet you there.”

“I will, and I thank you all,” Kougaa said, and he ran back inside.

“This is proceeding well,” Hakkien said. “Now, Gokur, drink up; I apologize if the taste is unpleasant.”

Gokur briefly met Sandorin’s gaze, and then he unstopped the bottle, lifted it to his lips, and drank its contents. “Ugh,” he said, “it tastes awful.” He frowned, rubbing his eyes, squeezing his fingers on the bridge of his nose, and then a few moments later he pressed his hand against the side of his head. “My head hurts,” he said, and then he cried out and fell to the stone floor of the terrace. His body shook uncontrollably, his arms and legs flailing as screams of pain burst from his lips.

Sandorin tried to run over to help him, but Hakkien stopped him. “Stay back,” he said, “I’m not sure when it will take full effect.”

“What in the seven hells!” Gojen exclaimed.

Sandorin rounded on the mage. “What did you do to him?” he shouted over Gokur’s screams.

“That’s what it was,” Hakkien murmured, “a blockage in his pituitary.”

Gokur stopped screaming, and he struggled up onto his hands and knees. He stayed that way for a few moments, harsh, panting breaths escaping his throat, and then he pushed himself to his feet and raised his hands toward the sky.

And he began to grow.

Hakkien turned to Gojen and Sandorin. “We need to get away from this citadel,” he said, and he pointed to Hakuu, who had transformed into his larger form. “Now!”


	9. Chapter 9

Hakuu had barely cleared the terrace when Gokur grew large enough that he had to leap off the terrace’s edge, and the ground shook when he landed. 

His size continued to increase, and as Sandorin watched, a small part of his brain realized that Hakkien’s strange utterances earlier must have been a spell to make Gokur’s clothes remain intact as he grew.

Gokur was a towering height now, surpassing that of the citadel that imprisoned Kougaa and the other Demons. “I can break it now!” he said with a smile, and his voice boomed like thunder across the rocky valley. Pulling back a fist that was bigger than the other three men put together, Gokur let out a roar and smashed his fist into the stone building, taking off the entire upper portion.

Hakkien guided Hakuu over near the young Giant’s face. “Gokur!” he shouted. “Remember, there are people at the bottom!”

Gokur nodded, and after Hakuu flew back to a safe distance, he brought his fist against the citadel again, knocking away a few more stories. Demons rushed out of the rubble, and they ran with inhuman speed toward the second citadel.

Hakuu started to follow them, and Gokur bent down and held out his hand, allowing Kougaa to climb onto his palm. With steps that shook the valley floor, Gokur took him over to the other citadel. From his perch on Hakuu’s back, Sandorin watched as Kougaa changed, his long red hair turning into flames, his eyes twin burning suns. The Demon prince held up his hands, and a ball of fire formed around them, glowing and increasing in size until it was almost the size of Gokur’s massive head. With a battle cry the prince released the fireball at Gyokuu’s citadel, and it exploded against the jagged stone barbs, leaving a gaping hole on the side.

Demons poured out of the hole in the wall, and chaos ensued as they battled with their clansmen. Gokur held out his hand to the highest balcony, and Kougaa scrambled off just as Hakuu arrived with the other three.

“You did it, Hakkien,” Kougaa cried out as the mage dismounted with Sandorin and Gojen, who immediately drew their swords. 

“You healed him,” Sandorin said.

“Sometimes things work the way I want them to,” Hakkien said. “I’m glad this was one of those times.”

“Gojen,” Kougaa said to Gojen, “come here, and let me give you the power that lives in your blood.” He held out a glowing hand.

After the smallest of hesitations, Gojen stepped forward and took Kougaa’s hand. The glow intensified, and began to travel up Gojen’s arm, soon enveloping his whole body. His ears lengthened, drawing out to tapered points, and his eyes glowed like embers.

“Look at him,” Hakkien murmured to Sandorin, as the ends of Gojen’s shoulder-length hair danced with flickering flames. “He’s beautiful.”

Gojen held out his hand, his long, thin fingers tipped with claws, and as he gazed at it a small ball of fire appeared in his palm. He smiled, revealing a set of fangs. “Thank you, my lord,” he said to Kougaa, and he sheathed his sword.

“Let’s go,” Kougaa said, and the two Demons created twin fireballs that blasted off the iron door. He and Gojen disappeared into the darkness, Hakkien following close behind.

“Sandorin?” Even as a whisper, Gokur’s voice boomed behind him. He turned to see Gokur bending down toward the balcony, his face close to its outer wall. Gokur smiled at him. “I grew,” he said, “and I was able to help them. Even if I can never grow again, I will never forget this day.”

Sandorin reached out and touched him, his palm a tiny thing on Gokur’s chin. “You did well,” he said. “Continue to fight, and keep Kougaa’s people safe.”

His hand disappeared as Gokur gently brushed a fingertip over it, and then the young Giant straightened up and moved with ponderous steps over to the other side of the citadel.

Sandorin ran down the steps, and when he exited the stairwell he found himself in the midst of a battle. Dozens of Demons rushed him, and Sandorin fought them with swift, deadly grace, his sword ringing as it struck their battered weapons. Every now and then he would see Gojen release a fireball, while bright streams of glowing, green light burst from Hakkien’s hands, decimating every creature they touched.

Out of the corner of his eye Sandorin saw a woman, laden with two weapons, try to leave the chamber. _Gyokuu_. He spun around and delivered deadly blows to his three opponents, and then he swiftly made his way over to block her escape.

“Don’t think you’ll leave here alive,” Sandorin said, the point of his sword at her throat. 

“I will deal with her,” Kougaa said, as he walked up next to Sandorin. Behind them Gojen and Hakkien dealt their final blows to their foes, and the floor of the chamber was littered with the bodies of Demons. He took the weapons from her and handed them to Gojen, who still bore the Demon form Kougaa had bestowed on him. Kougaa searched the woman roughly, and he withdrew a milky-white Jewel from her corset.

“Cunning witch,” he said, “the man who captured you is Sandorin of Kinza’an, son of Komon of Kinza’an, who you had murdered for this Jewel. I should let him run his sword through you, and let him take his vengeance upon you.”

Gyokuu said nothing, her eyes burning with hatred as she stared at her dead lover’s son.

“But I did not promise Prince Sandorin vengeance,”Kougaa said, “I promised him the return of his stolen Jewel.” He placed the jewel in Sandorin’s hand. “I have fulfilled my promise to you, Prince Sandorin. I ask you to please lower your sword, for I have another promise to keep.”

Sandorin lowered the blade, but he remained ready to strike.

As Sandorin moved away, Kougaa reached out and grasped Gyokuu’s hands. “I promised vengeance to myself, you grasping scullery maid,” he said, and his hands started to glow with a deep red light. “Vengeance against you, who killed my mother in order to supplant her place at my father’s side, you, who drove my father to break thousands of years of peace because of your lust for power, and you, who imprisoned me and my people while you destroyed any hope we had of ever leaving this gods-forsaken place.” 

The hatred in Gyokuu’s eyes turned to fear as the red glow traveled from Kougaa’s hands into her own, then up her arms, and he held on tightly while she struggled to escape him. She screamed as her skin reddened, then blackened, and moments later she turned to ash in his hands.

Just then they heard a thundering crash outside the citadel, and they staggered for balance as the building shook.

“Gokur,” Hakkien said, and Sandorin rushed down the spiraling stone steps, the others following close behind.

They found him unconscious in the rubble, transformed back to his smaller size. A group of Kougaa’s kinsmen had been protecting the young Giant while the others continued to fight Gyokuu’s men. Kougaa and a few of his kinsmen joined together to create a large ball of fire, and when they released it their foes perished in its flames.

“What happened?” Sandorin asked one of the Demons.

“He passed out and fell,” the Demon answered, “and then he shrank down to this size. We couldn’t attend to him, it took all our effort to keep him safe.”

Rocks fell around them as the Citadel rumbled ominously.

“We have to get him away from here,” Sandorin said, and he gathered Gokur in his arms and moved as swiftly as he could into the main valley.

“There, Sandorin,” Hakkien said pointing to a flat plateau, “there’s a good spot.”

When they reached the outcrop, Sandorin knelt down and gently lowered Goku onto its rough, flat surface. “He’s burning with fever,” he said, pressing his hand to Gokur’s hot, sweaty brow.

“He might have remained too long in his true form for his first time,” Hakkien said, and he checked Gokur’s pulse. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Sandorin swallowed with some difficulty, trying to control the rage that rose up in him. “If he dies, Hakkien, I—”

“Let me help,” Kougaa said, and he knelt down beside Gokur. “I can remove his fever from him. It is a kind of fire, and I have power over fire.” Kougaa placed his hands on either side of Gokur’s face, and he chanted in a low voice. The redness slowly left Gokur’s face, and although his skin felt cool when Sandorin touched him, Gokur did not awaken.

“Sandorin,” Hakkien touched his shoulder. “Use the Jewel.”

Sandorin dug it out of his pocket. “But I don’t know how to _use_ it,” he said watching a rainbow of colors flash under its milky-white, iridescent surface. “I’ve only ever seen them worn in this torc.”

“Let your mind guide it,” Hakkien said. “You are its guardian now, its king.”

Sandorin gathered Gokur into his arms, and he placed the Jewel at Gokur’s throat. _Heal him,_ he thought. _Bring him back to me._

The Jewel glowed, and for a second Gokur’s body shimmered with the same silvery light, and then the glow faded. Sandorin took the Jewel and pocketed it, his heart pounding as he waited.

Moments later, eyes the color of summer mead opened and focused on him.

“Sandorin?” Gokur gazed up at him. “You’re big, like me.”

A corner of Sandorin’s mouth turned up as relief flooded through him, and he ruffled Gokur’s sweat-dampened hair. “You’re small again, idiot.”

“Oh! That’s good,” he said, and he rested his head against Sandorin’s chest, wrapping his arms around Sandorin’s waist.

Sandorin drew him close, not caring who saw them.


	10. Chapter 10

“So, what do we do now?” Gojen asked.

The four men stood with Kougaa on a high plateau overlooking the valley. Below, Kougaa’s kinsmen were busy removing the bodies of the dead, and repairs had started on the settlements.

“The other stolen Jewels need to be returned,” Hakkien said, and he looked over at Kougaa. “Perhaps, Sandorin, Kougaa should accompany you.”

Kougaa shook his head. “Right now my place is here, with my people, helping them to reclaim this valley. A number of my treacherous clansmen have fled, but we will find them and they will be imprisoned with the others,” he said. “There is no one left for them to follow, now that Gyokuu is dead.”

“I will return the Jewels to their rightful guardians,” Sandorin said, “and I will call for a convocation of the Four, to discuss allowing the Demons to return to their homeland, with Kougaa as their king. I will present Kougaa to them at that time.” He turned to Kougaa. “Perhaps, one day, I will be able to return the Jewel of Darkness to you.”

“Perhaps,” Kougaa said, “when we have shown the others that we deserve to have it come back to us. I think your plan is best, Sandorin, and it will allow me time to help my people here. I will provide you with one of our dragons, if you wish, so that your journey will be a swift one.”

“I’m not sure I want a swift journey,” Sandorin said. “We Elves have lived apart from the others for many, many years, and, as my aunt told me before I left, we paid a terrible price for our indifference to what went on outside of our own homeland. I want to see the other kingdoms, and see how their people live.” He would send a message to Kanzin, telling her of his success and his intentions. A few months, a few years meant nothing to them, and Sandorin could wait to see his name engraved with the other kings who had wielded his sword. He would have Hakkien re-set the Jewel of Light in his torc, and he would become the Jewels' true guardians. 

“You’ll need a guide for that trip,” Gojen said. He looked mostly himself again, except that his ears had retained their long, tapered shape. “My rates are reasonable, and, except for dealing with wizards who are deliberately confusing, I manage to find places pretty well.”

“Will you join us, Hakkien?” Sandorin asked. He enjoyed the mage’s company, and his sly sense of humor.

“I think I shall, for awhile, anyway,”Hakkien said. “I have been a little too Elf-like myself, out there on my little island, and I should get out in the world a bit and see things that aren’t in books.” Hakuu cheeped in agreement from his perch on Hakkien’s shoulder.

Sandorin took the Jeweled staff from Gojen, and he held it out to Gokur. “Gokur Shiningbrow, you are the firstborn son of Petrar Shiningbrow, which makes you the rightful guardian of this staff and its Jewel,” he said. “It also makes you the Giant king.” Part of him didn’t want to offer the staff to Gokur, for if Gokur became king it would change how much time they would be able to spend together. But accepting the staff—and the Jewel it carried—was Gokur’s decision, not Sandorin’s.

Gokur looked at him with wide eyes as he took the staff of the Giant King. He gazed at its gleaming red metal, and the Jewel of Existence that sparkled at its tip. For a long while, he said nothing.

“Gokur?” Sandorin wondered at his silence.

“I…” Gokur touched the large, faceted Jewel, “I can sense the Jewel, and I can tell it accepts me, but I’m not sure I should be king.” He met Sandorin’s gaze. “I’ve been apart from my people for hundreds of years. I think my brother Nakur will be a better king than I would, and I know he feels the same way I do about renewing our friendship with the Elves.” He handed the staff back to Sandorin. “I want to see the other kingdoms too, with you. And besides,” he said, his golden eyes shining, “my life is yours for a thousand years, remember?

Sandorin did remember, and he vowed to make every one of those years last as long as he could.


End file.
